


Bone China

by crackleviolet



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 21:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: MC is too kind for her own good and eager to forgive and forget. Jumin worries that her good heart will push them further apart.





	Bone China

_**Someone on my tumblr requested Rika coming back with bad intentions and MC being the only one to realise it** _ _**, but I hit writer’s block since (imo) there’s no way Jumin would touch Rika with a barge pole, let alone his ween after learning what she did to V. So this is what came out of that. MC is the idiot, not him dfgfdfgd** _

~~**_No I am not over That After End. Yes this is a vent fic :’)_ ** ~~

**Jumin x MC | Mystic Messenger | Warning: contains depictions of bodily harm and dead bodies | No smut, just pain**

* * *

When he thought of MC, many things came to mind.

Jumin recalled her sense of humour; her ability to laugh out loud at even the most minor of things. A single phrase in a magazine had her in stitches, a cat video on the internet left her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

He remembered her hair too; a shade that glimmered radiantly in the morning sun. Sometimes he laid beside her, watching as it went from one equally beautiful shade to the next. She used a shampoo that smelled sweeter than his and left perfume behind on her pillow. When she wasn’t there, his head would find it, enveloping himself in her scent where he could not her.

He remembered her favourite wine, her favourite shoes. He remembered the way she positioned her phone in the crook of her neck as she prepared breakfast or buttoned her shirt.

He knew her better than anyone and there was still so much he had left to discover. He did not know her inside out, did not know her completely. She indulged his curiosities with a smile, never questioning the more obscure examples. When he thought of her, it was her patience that often came to mind, explaining her opinion on things he did not understand.

He wanted her face to be the last thing he saw; her hair to be the last scent he ever knew.

It seemed a cruel irony that she should be gone so soon. That two words could erase her so completely.

“No survivors.”

In that moment, he fell cold, her voice a distant memory and her scent on the pillow rapidly fading. The more he cast his mind back to her, the more difficult it was to remember her as she was. He still had her clothes but could not imagine her in them.

In almost every sense, she was replaced by other things; fire and ashes and mysterious castles belonging to ghosts. Her name on his lips felt more foreign than “Mint Eye”, the sympathetic tones of medical practitioners all over the country at his pathetic attempts to describe her.

He did not know how to explain her, could not try and contain her in something as primitive as words. The doctors, increasingly apologetic, had never known her as he had. Within weeks he visited every Jane Doe in the county only to find that not one of them had her smile. Many of them did not recognise him at all.

His friends and family reminded him of the same thing: that he had a good deal to remember her by and she had loved him dearly when she loved him at all. He could not accept their kindness however; could not see beyond ashes and the graves left behind. Wherever she was, he could not go.

‘No survivors’ lingered at the back of his mind and imagination, far more so than any of her jokes.

Sometimes he hated her for going somewhere he could never follow. She had kissed him so sweetly the last time he ever saw her and it filled him a rage that he could not explain. If it was to be their last kiss, why had she never warned him? Why hadn’t she told him to hold her tighter, to bury himself in her body and take all of her in?

In the end, he hated himself most of all. So many things came to mind when he recalled her, yet he could not grasp a single one in detail. She was the one who left, but he was the one who forgot.

A sad irony, for that singular detail haunted him far more than any aspect of her.

* * *

**One year ago**

“Don’t you think this is a little…excessive?”

MC paused from icing the cupcakes in front of her, a hint of rose coloured frosting on her cheek. Despite his criticisms, Jumin couldn’t help but smile and reach to brush it off.

“This class is going to be hard for them,” she said, “I want everything to be just right.”

MC was almost too kind, an obvious fact even to people who didn’t see her as often as he did. She was the type to apologize when other people walked into her; to hand over the last slice of cake or offer up her jacket. She put her heart and soul into helping the RFA even before she knew them well. She had researched charity after charity for the party and convinced everyone to attend, likely because her sincerity practically bled through each of her emails. Jumin had no doubts that if he had not so openly expressed his disgust with Sarah and Glam Choi, MC would have shrugged off any hope of pursuing him.

She felt too much and couldn’t bring herself to hate anyone-a fact that had become only too apparent in recent weeks. Rika and her other acolytes had finally gone to trial, having spent the best part of three months in varying stages of recovery. The Mint Eye catastrophe had proven to be so widespread and deliberately vague even to its followers that individual charges ranged from fines to several years in jail. Rika herself was jailed for life, with other high profile members serving twenty year sentences. Many acolytes had suffered such extensive damage to body and mind that they were sent to recover in psychiatric wings instead of jail, which was the reason for MC’s sudden burst of inspiration. She was determined to help the victims make a full recovery and have all of the support they needed to make a successful return to society.

How exactly that correlated to cupcakes, Jumin wasn’t sure, only that she had insisted on attending one of their group meetings. He wondered if anyone present would guess or even believe she had baked and iced them all herself. Likely not, but recognition-as she frequently repeated-wasn’t her ultimate goal

“I was thinking the other day,” she said, examining her handiwork, “how long it must have been since any of them met. They spent so much time in the castle, at meetings and prayer…meeting again like this will be difficult, but it’s the right thing to do. No one understands their experiences more than they do…”

She reached for her cake tin with a weak smile.

“I can’t understand them or take away their suffering, but at least I can give them something sweet to look forward to.”

Jumin sighed, both in awe and exhausted by the kindness of his wife; the love in her heart that he hoped would never be stolen.

“Just…be careful.”

* * *

**Nine months ago**

“I want to see Rika.”

Jumin paused, wineglass millimetres from his lips.

He had taken MC to dinner at one of his favourite restaurants, having noticed a shift in her mood, which he almost automatically attributed it to her frequent visits to the support group. Hearing the extent of Mint Eye’s activities and intentions had not been easy on her and she had poked and prodded at her steak since its arrival in front of her.

He had had a number of guesses as to what she was thinking, but the words she actually blurted out were the last he might have guessed.

He didn’t know how to respond and lowered his glass to the table, ultimately making the most obvious observation.

“Rika is in jail.”

“I know.”

“A  _high security jail_.”

“I know.”

She set aside her fork and reached for his hand across the table, stroking her thumb against his almost automatically.

He knew what she was going to ask and the answer he was obliged to give. His family were influential, but not above the law.

“No.”

“But, Jumin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his wine. “I can’t.”

“Can’t… or won’t?”

* * *

**Seven Months Ago**

Things were different between them after that.

MC still hummed as she baked; still curled her hair and put on smart dresses when she visited the recovery group. She still chatted to him and laughed, though in an increasingly halfhearted fashion. They had once been perfect, but now their relationship was a broken vase-immaculate from a distance, but irreparably cracked close up.

She spent more time than usual at the support group, leaving at the same time that he departed for work and returning much later. She rarely took cupcakes or food anymore, instead packing notebooks and drawing paper.

He wondered what on earth was going on at the group meetings that kept her away from the house for so long. Whatever it was, it left dark circles under her eyes.

He discovered the truth by accident-a phone call he almost talked himself out of making. MC was late home and he had organised a chef for dinner. He dialed MC’s cell phone and sent multiple texts, though received nothing in response. After much consideration, he dialed the number of the community hall, only to end up with far more questions than answers.

The leader of the support group was perplexed by the very idea that MC might be there, as she had not attended any of its meetings for well over a month. Jumin apologized several times before hanging up the phone, dismissing it as a miscommunication when he knew for a fact it was anything but.

Several months ago he might have been concerned at the prospect of infidelity, but this was arguably worse. For the first time in over a year he couldn’t decide on a logical plan of action. Surely it was all a misunderstanding and MC’s lies were perfectly innocent. Perhaps she had not meant to deceive him at all and would soon come forward with a reasonable explanation.

He watched every time she applied her lipstick; every time she packed up her purse ready for the support group and went so far as to invent activities she had taken part in. He watched and waited, ready for her to speak up and prove her innocence.

She never did, though, and he rubbed off the lipstick smears she left on his cheeks as if they were unwelcome layers of paint.

* * *

**Five Months Ago**

“MC, you’re being illogical!”

He should have seen it coming.

No.

He did see it coming and refused to believe it.

Barely a year into her prison sentence, Rika’s sentence came under appeal.

He had read the newspaper with shaking hands, dialing and redialing V’s home number with little luck. With any luck he would still be enough of a recluse that the news had escaped his attention. He never answered, though, and Jumin buried his face in his hands every time he got through to voicemail.

MC stayed quiet about the revelation, mumbling her goodbyes as she returned to group meetings. Jumin pretended he didn’t know that those group meetings didn’t exist.

Their final confrontation was an accident in the end. He had spent the day on the phone to his lawyer, who was more than a little skeptical of the prosecution’s chances in court. They had a new eyewitness and testimony that had never been there before.

He knew it was MC without asking and spent the rest of the evening helping himself to glass after glass of wine. He was almost certainly drunk when MC returned home and knew that he should retire to bed before saying anything he would regret. The alcohol overrode his reason, though, and he smiled weakly as she hung up her coat.

“How was the support group?”

“Busy,” she sighed, crossing the room and planting a kiss on his cheek. “We went to a recruitment drive and-“

She paused at the realisation that he shrank away from her lips, too repulsed by the knowledge that she was lying to him to accept any ounce of affection. Perhaps her kisses were lies too.

“MC,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I know…about the support group.”

“What do you mean?”

She couldn’t hide the alarm in her voice and that only made it worse. Had she believed him to be so naive and out of touch with the world that he wouldn’t notice the court case?

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had believed her, after all, for longer than he cared to admit. She was a kind, gracious person who he had trusted to be honest and speak out for the unfortunate, but her naive heart was clearly a weakness too. No one with a rational mind would speak out for a cult leader. Only innocent fools would read the long list of Rika’s crimes and conclude she did not deserve to be punished.

For the first time he saw MC for the fool she truly was.

“I spoke to them. You haven’t gone to the support group for quite some time.”

MC chewed at her bottom lip; facade slowly slipping. In the end she gave a heavy sigh.

“She was wrongfully jailed,” she said, without bothering to say who. “You know it just as well as I do.”

“MC,” he said.

“No! She suffered a terrible sickness and trauma! She needs help and sympathy, not years behind b-“

He got out of his chair to set aside his wine, wishing that he couldn’t hear…that he could just close his eyes and go to bed and erase the betrayal. MC followed him and reached for his arm.

“Jumin,” she said, “please…”

She wasn’t crying but he could hear it in her voice- the same way she got choked up over advertising campaigns that featured emaciated children.

“Please…”

He dragged his arm from hers and she stumbled, eyes wide at the gesture. They had never argued before, never disagreed. He had always accepted her kisses and touches, and he could see the growing horror in her eyes at the realization that their relationship was shattering around them.

“MC,” he said, “you’re being illogical!”

“But-“

“No! How can you claim to advocate and support people with traumas and illness while absolving a person like that of any blame? How could you sit in those support meetings and not see the impact of her actions? Aren’t her victims just as tortured as she claims to be?”

“Jumin…I heard about her past…she wasn’t always like this. There was a priest and-“

“Her victims were not always like this either. Do you mean to forgive this priest too? Are they beyond judgement?”

“Ju-“

“Don’t you agree that if the priest had faced judgement, things might have been different now?”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears.

“Jumin, she wasn’t in a position to…no one believed her!”

“Answer the question.”

“Well, no.”

“Why not? What if he showed up here now and told you his father beat him? Would you forgive him then?”

“That’s different! She-she couldn’t help herself! Why can’t you understand?”

Jumin shook his head and walked towards the bedroom, meaning to end the conversation there and then.

“You loved her once,” MC whispered, “don’t pretend you didn’t. Why can’t you show her any compassion now?”

He sighed and turned to her, chest tight and hands clenched into fists.

“She lost the right to any kindness from me when she blinded my friend.”

“J-“

“When she lied to the entire RFA, who trusted her so deeply.”

“But-“

“When she preyed on the vulnerable and weak.”

MC shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her face.

“You really are cold, after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping a level tone to hide how much her observation stung, “but I am also the acting head of the RFA and it falls to me to protect its members. I cannot stop you from pursuing this or showing her mercy, but if you do so I’ll have no choice but to view you as a potential threat to our organisation.”

She blinked in surprise.

“A threat? Me? Jumin-“

“You have a choice now,” he said. “You can protect Rika or the RFA, but not both.”

He smiled sadly, recalling MC’s good heart and willing her to choose correctly.

“Choose soon.”

* * *

**Present day**

“This way, Mr Han.”

The coroner’s assistant led him into a dimly lit room and reached over the autopsy table.

_No survivors._

He had heard it clearly, yet it didn’t feel real.

“When you’re ready.” 

He gave them a swift nod, sucking in a deep breath when they reached for the sheet.

Since her disappearance many months earlier, he had visited every hospital and left no corner of the city unturned. He missed her laugh and gentle touches and refused to allow that argument to be their last. She might still see sense if he phrased things properly; he had to believe she wasn’t so good and innocent that she would willingly put herself in danger.

He had to believe that she would choose him at the end of it all.

It took an explosion to uncover her and a second castle. It belonged to a previously disbanded cult, built alongside the first as a contingency plan. The acolytes there were more desperate than the others and lined the grounds of their home with explosives. Their leader did not hesitate to have them pull the trigger to hide her sins, regardless of who or what remained inside. She held onto her convictions even at the end of everything.

_No survivors._

They returned to that fact far more than any others.

Everyone, from media outlets to police officers, called the explosion a tragedy but Jumin knew otherwise. He had seen it coming the moment Rika’s bright smile graced his television screen as she thanked her lawyer and the courts for allowing true justice to prevail. 

The lawyer’s body was one of the first they found, identifiable only by his fillings. They found Rika’s body in bed, unscathed by the explosion and dosed on poison.

None of the story so far had shocked him, from the mangled remains of acolytes to the rubble at the scene. Even now, as he stood before the final body, he knew exactly what he was going to find. They had found this one in the same room as the Saviour, untouched by fire. She had not died from smoke inhalation or burns, but hands at her throat. 

This body was far more intact than any of the others, which if anything was worse. She appeared to be smiling in her sleep, hair shorn by a clumsy set of scissors and only bruises at her throat to prove otherwise. There was a smudge of blue on her cheek in just the same position she once had frosting.

“Sir?”

The assistant had taken note of his contemplation.

Jumin took in the body’s collarbones; far more pronounced than when he had draped necklaces over them. MC certainly hadn’t been eating as well as before. There had surely been no one to take her to dinner.

She was not MC anymore but a broken doll, as lifeless and transformed as a china vase reassembled in the wrong order. If he listened closely, he could still hear the shatter; could see the cracks in her ghostly skin.

He looked up at the coroner, the silence of the room deafening on his senses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know them.”


End file.
